The door opened, and James Preston walked in.
He stood a little over six feet tall and was built like a man who had spent most of his life working outdoors rather than sitting behind a desk. Broad shoulders, weathered hands, silver beginning to show at his temples, and the kind of quiet presence that made the room seem smaller the moment he entered it.
His eyes found Alexander.
"There's my boy." He walked over and gave his son's shoulder a firm pat.
"You didn't have to come here, Dad," Alexander said, pulling out a chair for him.
James lowered himself into it with a grunt and rubbed one knee. Then his eyes moved to the man behind the desk.
"Freddy."
The Majority Leader grimaced.
"James."
"I knew your father," James said, almost conversationally. "Good man. He understood the value of boots with mud on them. Knew what it meant to work before sunrise and come home smelling like cattle."
The senator shifted uncomfortably.
